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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354558">Stupid, Clumsy Fear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashmouth_dragon/pseuds/trashmouth_dragon'>trashmouth_dragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:13:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,025</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354558</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashmouth_dragon/pseuds/trashmouth_dragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eddie Kaspbrak shows up at Richie's apartment in the middle of the night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak &amp; Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The One Where Eddie Shows Up Unannounced</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this chapter has some content related to suicide and self harm, so warning for that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie Kaspbrak stood outside the door to apartment 27 for what felt like an eternity. Yes, he knew he'd be welcomed with open, albeit sweaty and dirty arms, and he was almost 100 percent sure this was the right apartment, but something held him back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fear. Stupid, clumsy, unwarranted fear.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of him knew this is what he'd be faced with when he arrived, unannounced, at his childhood best friend's home. Part of him knew that it was more than fear of everything, but rather a fear of rejection. And yet, Eddie had made it this far. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There's no turning back. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knocked. No response. Eddie glanced around at the dark halls. It was late, almost midnight, which was almost 3 am to him, still living in New York time. His flight had landed on time, and he should have arrived at the apartment around dinnertime, but, as stated, fear held him back. Instead, he'd gone sightseeing. After all, Eddie had never been to Los Angeles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie knocked again. This time, his heart clenched as he heard shuffling and a tired voice respond. "Hold on, hold on! I'm coming!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door flew open a moment later, and Richie's surprised face meets him. Eddie didn't speak, glancing over Richie's body. He was wearing slippers and a long maroon robe. Eddie, on the other hand, was still in his day attire, a plain blue polo shirt and khakis. In one hand, he held a duffel bag, in the other, a small suitcase. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was quiet. Finally, Richie spoke. "Eds?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't, don't call me that."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie shriveled in on himself. He was scared. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie is going to turn me away and I'll have to rent some dirty motel with what little money I brought. Fuck this, I'll call Myra and tell her I was stupid, I can't divorce-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Eddie, is everything okay?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my fucking, are you crying? Why am I crying?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I need somewhere to stay. I flew all the way here. I, I broke my phone and I couldn't call anyone. I figured, I figured you'd be the best option."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was silent. Even the humming of the electricity refused to join in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh. Oh, of course. Yes, come in."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie walked past Richie quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's a lot cleaner than I expected. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's cleaner than I expected from you, Trashmouth."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie scoffed and walked past Eddie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So, Eds, what brings you to my lair?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I, I'm divorcing Myra. And, well, she kicked me out. This week has been really stressful. I got fired-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie interrupted. "Wait, wait. I'm tired. I can't listen to a full length novel, fuck ass." He runs his face, pushing his glasses off with a tired smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well fuck you too, man."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie sighed. "What matters right now is that you're okay. Like, you aren't going to go crazy on me and, I don't know, hurt yourself or something." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughed, nervous at how serious Richie was. "What's wrong with you? Did you hit your head, fucknut?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, Eds, I'm trying this fun thing called being nice. Something you don't seem to understand." Richie jeered back, though Eddie could see he wasn't truly upset.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie blushed. "Don't call me Eds."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed, it was small, almost a giggle, and Eddie's heart thumped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So, well. Where, where can I sleep?" Eddie finally asked. "I mean, the couch is fine. I would even take the floor. I just, I just couldn't take the idea of a motel. There could be addicts, or bed bugs, or fucking spiders, I can not handle spiders anymore, and it would be easier to catch diseases. Anyway, when's the last time you cleaned your couch? I know at least ten ways to thoroughly disinfect your couch. I could-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie rolled his eyes and interrupted Eddie's nervous rambling. "Take my bed. I'll take the couch. Before you object, I didn't even realize people cleaned their couches. And I just cleaned my bedding, actually, my entire bedroom, today. So, go, take it. Go sleep. I'm exhausted." Richie dramatically sprawled across the table he sat at. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can't do that. I can't take his bed. But, he said he hasn't washed his couch. And you know he probably has so many germs, you can't risk it! Just, take his bed!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I can see that tiny rat in your brain trying its hardest to turn the wheel. It's fine, Spaghetti Man. Just take my bed. It's only one night. I can clean the couch tomorrow. Or I can let you do it while I fuck your mom."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie's face burned. "Okay, I'll take your bed. Have fun sleeping with dust mites, jerk off." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie watched as Richie walked over and curled up on the couch. For a moment, he laid there, eyes closed. Then he sat up. "Oh yeah. Bedroom's down the hall, last door. I mean, there's only two doors. One of the rooms is technically a study but it's currently just full of nothing except for a desk. But, god damn I'm tired. It's the one on the left. Make yourself at home." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie turned to go to the bedroom. But Richie quietly said one final thing. "Goodnight Eddie."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiled. "Goodnight, Richie." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie walked to the room, attempting to be quiet on the squeaky floorboards. He pushed open the door, quickly noting that this room is by far the cleanest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie did say he cleaned this room today.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie gazed around the room curiously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That's a framed poster from his first big tour? Self centered dickhead. But, I mean. I probably would have kept that too. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie set his bags down on the floor and walked over to the nightstand. He smiled, remembering something from one of the last times him and Richie had hung out before leaving Derry the first time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Richie! I can't believe you would smoke… weed." He whispered the last word, carefully, fearful that someone might hear him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie giggled and slapped Eddie's shoulder. "Oh come on Eds, pretty much everyone does it. I'm sure ever your bitchy old mom does!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie felt blood rush to his cheeks. "Don't call me Eds. And, so what if everyone else is doing it? You're going to get addicted! Fuck, you're probably already addicted!" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I'll prove you wrong, Eds. I'm not addicted!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie kneeled down and pulled open drawer after drawer, suddenly determined to discover if Richie was still a pothead. Eddie gave up after finding nothing, even in the last drawer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slumped down, his back against the bed. He found himself facing a record player. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie, I thought you were an uncultured idiot!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie sat up and pulled out a small stack of records from the full cabinet below. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Queen, Elton John, Buddy Holly…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled, remembering a night from years ago. Then, he frowns. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We were both crying. There's no reason that's a good memory. But, but it is. You spent that night being sad together. That was what made it a good memory. Time well spent. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie didn't knock on the door. Instead, he walked straight in and up the stairs to Richie's room. He didn't worry about Richie's parents. After all, they were nowhere to be seen, which wasn't uncommon at 9 pm on a Saturday. Richie had told Eddie they'd go on dates, or sometimes out drinking. Either way, they weren't home when Eddie stormed in. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie didn't knock on Richie's door either. He walked in, teary eyed, then stopped in his tracks. Richie laid back on his bed, crying. An old sounding vinyl played quietly in the background. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie and Eddie locked eyes. Without saying anything, Eddie sat next to Richie and pulled him into a hug. It felt sort of strange, but it felt right. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie hugged back. Then, quietly, as if to not wake someone, he asked, "Why haven't you made a joke about me listening to Buddy Holly?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Well, I don't think I should, I guess."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie wouldn't admit that seeing Richie genuinely upset hurt him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie sat up. "I stole it from my mom's collection. I just wanted something new. I think it's actually kind of nice."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie simply nodded. The music wasn't what he was used to Richie playing, but it was something he could get used to.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I should get to bed." Eddie mumbled to himself. He walked over to his small duffel bag and unzipped it. He hadn't had time to think about what to pack, as Myra had been throwing a fit and screaming that he "get out and think about what a terrible mistake you're making!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I really did marry my mother, didn't I? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After digging through the clothes he'd managed to grab, he realized he didn't grab any of his pajamas. He sighed and decided he'd have to learn to sleep in boxers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm not sleeping in a polo shirt and khakis. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie stripped down to his plain boxers and slid into the sheets. They were surprisingly soft. For a moment he wondered if Rich had used baking soda and vinegar, but decided he shouldn't dwell on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie laid quietly for a moment, his eyes closed. He gave up and opened his eyes, not feeling tired at all. Eddie's eyes started wandering around the room. The walls, he took note, were a light grey. The bedding however, was bright and colorful. Cherry red pillows and azure sheets. The blanket was a light orange. At least Richie could match his colors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sudden </span>
  <em>
    <span>crash </span>
  </em>
  <span>from the living room startled Eddie. He quickly slid out of bed, worried that something was happening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if someone broke in? Or the ceiling collapsed? Or maybe Richie just fell off the couch. But he could break his arm, or even his leg doing that. God, It would be terrible to have to drive his sorry ass to a hospital it's almost 1 am. I should be sleeping. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie let out an inaudible sigh of relief when he reached the end of the hallway. Richie was standing on the coffee table, seemingly much more awake than earlier. He had abandoned his robe on the couch. Eddie still wasn't sure what caused the crashing sound, but he was relieved that Richie wasn't hurt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie looked at what Richie was holding unsteadily (maybe that's what made a crash sound) and smiled. A framed picture of Elton John with a rainbow overlay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe Richie is gay. No, no. That's stupid. He would have told you by now. But I mean, no don't think that. He just likes Elton John. I mean, I would have that in my home, it's a nice picture. I mean-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie's thought stopped in their tracks (a truly rare occurrence for the nervous, hyperactive hypochondriac) when he noticed something he wished were not real. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. No. No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie held back a gasp. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don't let Richie see you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He felt panic rising in his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This can't be real. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He felt his hands start shaking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I need my respirator. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His breath caught in his throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, fuck. I need my inhaler.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie, as quietly as he could, ran back to Richie's bedroom. He dug into his duffel bag, finally grasping his inhaler. He shoved it into his mouth shakily and puffed it twice. After a few moments, he felt his throat loosening. His panic, however, didn't subside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I really hope I didn't see that right. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He felt his heartbeat slow a touch, and let himself think about what he saw.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jagged scars running up his arms. One on each.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie took a deep breath but his heart thump, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump, thumped! </span>
  </em>
  <span>He couldn't calm down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie's always so happy, there's no way he did that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Eddie's head felt icy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, fuck, fuck. What if he's not happy? You just crashed into his life and you're going to make it worse. You probably already have.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Breathe, Eddie. Breathe." He spoke to himself, quietly. "Just, just lay down and, fuck. Fuck. Go to bed." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if he did it within the last few months? You could have helped. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakily crawled into bed. He let his hand rest on his stomach. It crept a little higher as Eddie attempted to calm himself down. It had become a habit to feel the scar on his lower chest when stressed. For the first month or so after leaving the hospital, he refused to look at it, only bothering with it when he absolutely had to. However, over time he came to associate the freshly healed scar with what Richie had told him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You're braver than you think." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Though sometimes he thought of Richie calling it a "chestburster scar" excitedly while he was in the hospital.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie began to calm. He could feel his heart thumping under his hand. He smiled sadly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Am I fucking crying? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He sat up and wiped his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He felt sobs bubble behind his lips. He rolled onto his side, attempting to silence his panic. Tears slid down his face, wetting the cherry red pillows. He clamped his hands over his mouth in a feeble attempt to hide his sobbing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In an attempt to distract himself, Eddie grabbed the first thing he saw off the nightstand. A framed picture of the Loser's Club at the Jade of The  Orient, taken on Richie's phone. Eddie looked at each member carefully. Bev, smiling, but Eddie can see the fear behind her eyes. Bill looked happy but anxiety was etched into his features. Mike was flashing the camera a smile. Ben stood close to Bev, more focused on her than the camera. Eddie was smiling, his hands crossed tightly. He seemed more focused on Richie. Richie was only sort of in the photo, having taken it in selfie mode, and only catching one side of his smiling, gleeful, face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Stan. Stan wasn't in the picture. Eddie felt a wave of nausea overcome him and he quickly set the picture back down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakily set the picture back down. Next to it was a framed picture of Stan. The picture showed him, smiling, still 13. Eddie smiled and touched the picture softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie rolled back over, a few tears still sliding down his face. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The One Where Eddie Makes Things Awkward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter has talk of suicide. It's also a bit shorter, oops, I apologize.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie woke up fearfully as a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>bang! </span>
  </em>
  <span>happened in his ear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wake up sleepy head! Get the fuck out of my bed, I need it for your mom!" Richie's rough voice said loudly, right in Eddie's ear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie groaned and sat up, pulling the sheets up to cover his body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What are you hiding, Eds? Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute, cute, cute </span>
  </em>
  <span>body?" Richie said, his face twisted in a joking smirk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie blushed. "My scar, dumbass. And don't call me Eds." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie rolled his eyes. "Well come on. I made breaky, let's go eat!" He turned to leave the room and Eddie waited for him to shut the door before sliding out of bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He had a jacket on. He was dressed for the day. I wonder what his plans are? Maybe he's just hiding those scars from you. Those scars. Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You can ask him later. If the time is right." Eddie mumbled to himself quietly as he busied himself with pills. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After taking all of his medications, wondering </span>
  <em>
    <span>which ones are fake, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and deciding to figure that out later, Eddie decided to actually get dressed. He dug into the unfolded clothes in his duffel bag, pulling out a light green button up and a pair of blue jeans. He slid into the clothes quickly, then slid socks on. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can put my jacket on later, if I go anywhere.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie walked down the hallway and into the living room. The kitchen was attached to the room and Richie sat at a small dining table scrolling on his phone. Eddie sat down beside him awkwardly, wringing his hands together nervously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What, umm, what time is it?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie looked up from his phone and smiled. "Time for breakfast, Eddie Spaghetti!" He stood up from his chair, leaving his phone open on the table. Eddie glanced at the screen, ignoring the texts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Its 9:04 am. That's almost noon in New York. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie set a plate down in front of Eddie. "I made you breakfast. You seemed pretty shitty last night and figured you might appreciate it." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie looked down at the plate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Waffles. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"Is this more of that, trying to be nice, thing, you were talking about last night?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed around the food in his mouth. "Of course not! Can't a guy just make his unsuccessful, homeless, almost divorced </span>
  <em>
    <span>bestest</span>
  </em>
  <span> friend a nice breakfast?" He smirked at Eddie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie frowned. "Well, thanks I guess." He cut a small piece off of a waffle and took it into his mouth, still watching Richie. Richie, however, had gone back to staring at his food. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie glanced to where the Elton John had been the night before. Replacing it was a generic painting of a bald eagle. Eddie snorted, causing Richie to look up, his fork still in his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What?" Richie spoke, once again, around a mouthful of waffle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're going to choke if you keep talking with your mouth full. Anyway, this painting here. I don't know, it seems almost out of place. And Myra had the same one hung up in our living room back in New York. I hated it. I always thought it would look better to have something like, I don't know, a framed picture of a band, or something that mattered, like our wedding photos. But no, she insisted on </span>
  <em>
    <span>being patriotic. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was bullshit! I always told her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>we can be patriotic without a fucking eagle on our wall. Why can't we show actual personality? </span>
  </em>
  <span>But no. That was her personality. I don't think it was ever about the eagle. I think she's just a controlling bitch and-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie stopped, sighing. "Sorry." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie shook his head, laughing. "And? Let me guess, a whale? A fucking cow? Or, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just like your mom?</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie yawned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He looks tired. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't know. She, Myra. She made me feel like shit. I kind of wanted to die sometimes, man. I considered it." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie's face fell. "Suicide jokes aren't funny, Eddie." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie shrank inwardly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh jeez. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"Hey, no man. I'm sorry. But why do you even care? You used to make jokes like that all the time." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugged and pushed his half eaten waffles away from him. "I'm more aware of shit now." He mumbled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh God, I made it awkward. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was quiet for a while. Eddie continued eating, feeling more and more awkward with every bite. Richie simply moved his syrup covered waffles around his plate with his fork. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie set his fork down for a moment, his hands shaky. He took a big drink from the cup Richie had given him with his plate, and then set it back down as quietly as possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Eddie?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie's voice scared Eddie, and his already shaky hand dropped his fork.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, sorry. Yes?" Eddie wiped his mouth awkwardly, trying to not look at Richie. He glanced up anyway, catching Richie's eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He looks terribly sad.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That, you weren't… you weren't serious, right? Have you ever actually wanted to, to, you know?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, no. No, I haven't. I've, I've dealt with, well, who hasn't had a depressive episode? But no, I've never wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>end my own life.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was silent again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, Eddie spoke. "I'm thoroughly, truly, sorry I made that joke." he paused, "Have, have you? Ever felt, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing that</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie frowned. His hands folded together. "Eddie, I-" Richie shook his head, and stood up. He rubbed his hands over his face, pushing his glasses up. "I need to take a piss." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie walked away, heading for the bathroom, his hands clenched. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I pushed too far.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Eddie stood up to follow him, but before he could make it into the hallway, he heard the bathroom door slam shut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed, debating with himself. Should he sit back down and wait? Or should he follow him? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm braver than I think.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie took a deep breath and forced his feet to move toward the bathroom. He reached the door and shakily raised his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Knock, knock. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Richie?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The faucet that had been running squeaked off and Eddie heard the door unlock. It slowly cracked open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, Eds. It's been hard since, since </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stan</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The One Where Richie Remembers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank y'all for all the positivity! It's really making me feel warm and fuzzy! </p><p>Okay, so, warnings for this chapter!<br/>Internalized homophobia, mentions of suicide, homophobic slurs, there's a joke about necrophilia</p><p>Also, I'm currently without internet so it might be a bit until I post the next chapter, but I'll definitely post when i can.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Richie laid on the couch, listening to the shower running. It was around 2 pm, though Richie hadn't looked at his phone for a while and he wasn't in a position to see the clock, so he wasn't sure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ever since the awkward conversation Eddie and him had had during breakfast, Richie had felt utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhausted.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He'd gone into the bathroom and nervously vomited his entire meal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I should talk to a doctor about the nervous throw up. Nah, I'm probably fine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shower stopped and Richie sat up, wondering is Eddie was actually done. He'd only been in the bathroom for around 15 minutes. Richie stared toward the hall for a long moment, and then the shower started back up. Richie sighed and laid back down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck man. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of Richie was terrified of how this was going to play out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Me, an almost 30 years closeted gay man, living with his best friend who he's also in love with. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No one needs to know. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except he felt like everyone knew. Especially after the scene he caused when they were escaping Neibolt, clutching Eddie as tight as he could, knowing Eddie was near dead. Whispering sweet, hopefully calming, things into his ears. Everyone saw. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone knows.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They all hate you. That's why you rarely talk. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie knew this wasn't true. It was mostly his fault he didn't speak to the Losers often. He had a tendency of doing that, cutting the important people out. Richie wasn't sure when he started doing that, when his manager became his only friend. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie's your friend. He won't be when he realizes what a pervert you are.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie felt tears prick his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don't cry, pussy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But fuck, he was crying, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about all the time he'd spent hiding this part of himself. How utterly terrified he was of </span>
  <em>
    <span>who </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was. He wanted to be open, go to events, fall in love with someone who would love him back. But stupid, </span>
  <em>
    <span>clumsy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>fear held him back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God. Why? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mind went back to the arcade. All he wanted to do was play Street Fighter and be a kid. It's not like he knew what he was doing was wrong. It felt just like any other day, it had been just like any other day. But Bowers and his gang had to ruin it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They're right. You're a, a, fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie knew he would forever have issues from what Bowers had done, and what he had done to Bowers. He hadn't felt much at the time, other than pure fear, leading him to vomiting. But after the energy had died down, he let himself feel all the guilt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I killed a man.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure, a man who had been trying to kill someone else, but he had still taken another man's life. He felt almost guilty that it wasn't traced back to him when Bowers body had been found. Derry had such a history that they barely searched before deciding he </span>
  <em>
    <span>somehow did it to himself. After all, he was an escaped mental patient. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie was both pleased and horrified that he wouldn't be charged with anything, not even manslaughter, not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>self defense.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just, remember. Bowers was a bad, bad man. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>After a moment of thinking over Bowers, t<span>he arcade came back to mind. No matter what, when he thought of </span><em><span>this part of himself</span></em><span> it always went back to the arcade. Sure, he'd experienced many forms of homophobia. He'd grown up hearing it from all sides. He'd been hit, shamed, shunned for it. For something he denied constantly. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But the arcade is always what came back to his mind. For years, he didn't even remember that it happened, but within the last year or so since he returned to Derry, it came back to him almost daily. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>After escaping the arcade, and the fear that Bowers would hunt him down, to beat the faggot out of him of something like that, Richie ran to the park. At first, all he felt was anger. At Bowers. At Connor. At the world. But as he reached the park, he crumbled into a mess of sadness. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then, after running for his life from the Paul Bunyan statue, he wanted to go home. However, his face was beaten after running into Bowers when he tried to head home, and his heart was still pounding from the fear of It and himself. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn't sure at first where to go. While Bill and everyone had made up after their fight fairly quickly, things still weren't completely better. While Stan and Richie were closer than ever, Richie didn't feel quite comfortable going to the Jewish kid over something like this. He wouldn't ever tell any of the losers that what Bowers was saying was true, but something about even planting the idea in Stan's head terrified him. He'd heard Stan's parents say things, and he didn't know if Stan would believe the same. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bill was a no go. Richie and him hadn't gotten along as well since they fought. Ben was a surprisingly good friend, but Richie didn't feel like this was something he could tell the chubby little guy. Mike was just, sort of relatable, and Richie wouldn't admit it but he admired him. However, he wouldn't tell Mike that. That's not the kind of relationship they had. He definitely couldn't talk to Eddie about it. And Bev was, well, she dealt with enough that he didn't quite understand. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So he did the next best thing. He went to the clubhouse. On the way, he stopped at a small convenience store. He swiped a few packs of cigarettes, easily hiding them in his pants. Bev had taught him how to get away with it, and at this moment he was very grateful. He got a 7-Up Gold to make it seem like he had a reason to be there. The cashier made a small remark on the nasty bruise growing in his face, but he just said he got in a fight, end of story. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So now here he was, slowly walking through trees, heading for the clubhouse. His face was really hurting now, even more than the initial punch, but he didn't bother caring. He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket carefully, his hands shaky. He pressed one in between his lips, but didn't light it. He jumped down the ladder easily, then gazed around the clubhouse. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn't the same as when the entire loser's club was there. It felt empty, sad. Just like Richie.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He sat in the darkest corner instead of his usual spot in the hammock. He lit his cigarette and took a deep breath. When that cigarette was gone, he was quick to light another. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was 4 cigarettes into the box when he heard Stan's voice, saying something stupid about warblers, something Richie assumed was a type of bird. He listened for a little while they approached, then rubbed the cigarette out. Then he heard Eddie. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Bill, why isn't Richie here? Thought the trashmouth was coming." Eddie's loud voice questioned. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie say up uncomfortably. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I c-c-called his house b-b-but he d-d-d-" Bill paused, "he never p-picked up." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie didn't respond and the conversation went back to birds as Stan excitedly mentioned seeing some sort of sparrow the last time they were down at the clubhouse. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ben stepped onto the ladder first, and Richie shrank in on himself, trying to be invisible. Ben didn't notice him, it seemed. Even when he turned to face the darkness Richie hid in, quietly crying. Following Ben was the rest of the losers, one by one. Bev, however, mentioned taking a moment to smoke, and Richie figured Eddie had complained about it recently. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stan continued talking about birds while Ben and Mike talked quietly. Bill watched Stan, seeming kind of bored. Eddie awkwardly climbed into the hammock and flipped open a comic book. Richie noted the way his eyes crinkled a little as he smiled.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm being a stupid fairy, he thought.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie took a deep breath as quiet as he could. Bev began walking down the stairs. It hadn't been more than a minute since everyone else had made it down the ladder, so Richie assumed she must have been smoking as they approached. Bev stopped about halfway down the ladder and made eye contact with Richie.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Richie?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie felt everyone's eyes land on him. He stood up, the pack of cigarettes sliding off his lap and landing with a soft "thud" on the dirt below. Stan was quiet, Eddie no longer stared at his comic book, Mike and Ben both watched quietly. Bill seemed like he wanted to say something. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie turned his head toward the ground, tears rolling down his face, and he rushed past the hammock and past Bev up the ladder. He tripped halfway up, and turned, waiting for a joke at his expense. Instead, as he continued rushing up the ladder, he watched as Bev went to follow, and stopped Stan and Eddie from chasing him as well. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>---</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The water stopped again, and Richie sat up. There was a large crash, and then Eddie's voice yelling, "Fuck! E-everything is fine! I'm fine!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie sighed and laid back down, letting his mind go back to his memories. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He escaped. For a moment he stood just outside the clubhouse, then decided to run for it, to go back home to escape yet another situation. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bev was next to him. He couldn't run now. She didn't say anything. Richie didn't either. Instead, she pulled a box of cigarettes out of her pocket. Quietly, she opened the box and offered one to Richie. He took one out of the box and Bev lit it for him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Was it Bowers?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie took a long drag from his cigarette and shrugged. "You tell me? Is it shaped like his fist?" Richie attempted a small laugh, but it died on his tongue. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What was it this time?" The fire haired girl asked, taking a puff. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie shrugged. "Guess I'm a fag. Or something like that."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bev didn't say anything for a while. As a matter of fact, they both finished their cigs and stood for a few minutes before she spoke again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Well, are you?" </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie didn't answer for a moment. Then spoke. "I sure hope not, I'd have a lot of explaining to do to Mrs. K." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bev gave a small laugh, then turned back toward the clubhouse. "Come on. Let's join them." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie smiled, showing off his crooked teeth, and followed her down. Stan, Eddie and Bill were all arguing while Mike and Ben stood back laughing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>---</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Richie! Is it alright if I light this candle? The label says it smells like pine trees, and its December 8th, almost Christmas! I think this place needs a little Christmas cheer! I mean, this place gives me kind of sad feelings, maybe it's all the dust. You know, you really should dust, all this </span>
  <em>
    <span>dust </span>
  </em>
  <span>isn't good for your lungs, and especially not mine. It could make me have an asthma attack! Richie, this dust thing is a serious problem! Oh, yeah, the candle. If you don't mind, I'm going to light this. It's never too early for Christmas cheer." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie sat up and turned to face the rambling idiot he called his best friend. Richie smirked at Eddie as he rambled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh Eds, I'm rarely even here! Why would I bother with dusting if I'm too busy fucking your mom?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie frowned, blushing. "Don't call me that. And she's dead, Richie. Can't fuck a corpse."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed. "And that's where you're wrong." He stood up and stretched while Eddie glared at him, a disgusted look on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I, Richie! Do you know how fucking disgusting that is? Do you know how many diseases you could get from fucking a corpse? I mean, statistically it's not that likely, but still. That's </span>
  <em>
    <span>perverse, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie! I can't believe you'd even joke-" Eddie started, but Richie cut him off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's a joke, Eddie. Don't take it so harshly!" He grabbed his wallet from the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, by the way, I'm going out for a little bit. I would say to call if you need anything, but you don't have a phone-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wait, where are you going?" Eddie interrupted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just, out. And no, you can't come with, Spaghetti man. I'm probably going to go somewhere nasty and infected with </span>
  <em>
    <span>disease.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" He laughed loudly at himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I wasn't going to ask to come. And where's your duster, if you even have one? I don't want to have an asthma attack and </span>
  <em>
    <span>you are clearly not going to fix this dust problem </span>
  </em>
  <span>so I'm going to. I just hope I won't have an allergic reaction or something fucking stupid like that." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, all my cleaning shit is under the sink in the bathroom. Or the kitchen. And I guess there's some stuff in the hallway closet. Anyway, I'm leaving! Bye Eddie, dear!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie quickly stepped through his door and into the hallway, ignoring Eddie rambling about needing to keep everything organized. He glanced at his door. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Apartment 27. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He was sure the world was playing some sick game with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>First, moving him into </span>
  <em>
    <span>Apartment 27</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and them having the </span>
  <em>
    <span>love of his fucking life </span>
  </em>
  <span>show up 3 weeks before Christmas, </span>
  <em>
    <span>a Christmas he was going to spend alone, drunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And then </span>
  <em>
    <span>the love of his life </span>
  </em>
  <span>had to ask him about </span>
  <em>
    <span>suicide </span>
  </em>
  <span>and is getting divorced and is </span>
  <em>
    <span>staying for an undetermined amount of time.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie was sure God hated him. He wondered if admitting his </span>
  <em>
    <span>dirty little secret </span>
  </em>
  <span>would scare Eddie away. Maybe then he could just be alone and rot away like he wanted to. He could drink until he couldn't remember anything on Christmas. And he could just, exist only when he had to. Honestly, he would probably be laying in bed still if Eddie hadn't shown up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie found himself at the door leading to the outside world. He stepped out into the world, blinking at the bright sky for a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie pulled his phone out of his pocket. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It's almost 3 pm. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He had two missed calls. One from Bev, one from Ben. The couple had been exceptionally good at bothering Richie, trying to keep in contact with the entirety of the Loser's Club. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Except Stan.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swiped Ben's name away and clicked on Bev's, calling her back. It rang twice before she picked up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey Bev."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Richie! Why haven't you been answering my calls these last few days? And have you heard from Eddie? He stopped responding to my texts a few days ago."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie scoffed. "Oh, yeah I've heard from him. He's currently in my fucking apartment, probably laughing at my rainbow feather duster, or being disgusted by my lack of cleanliness." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wait, Eddie's there? What's happening? Is everything okay?" Bev sounded concerned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed and ran his hand through his hair nervously. "Well, I'm honestly not really sure. He just showed up unannounced last night, cried at me for a bit, and now he's complaining because I don't clean well enough. I guess he's getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>the d word</span>
  </em>
  <span>. By that I mean divorced, not dicked down." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bev was quiet for a moment, ignoring Richie's nervous joke. "Well," she sighed, "How is everything with you? Last we talked you called me a bitch and hung up on me. I know something has been bothering you." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie frowned, remembering shouting at Bev over the phone for bringing up his lack of relationships. Telling him to get his dick wet, saying it would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy to get a girl in bed </span>
  </em>
  <span>as he's a semi-famous comedian, didn't help his internal struggles with his sexuality. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After what had happened at Neibolt it had truly caught him off guard. Every time relationships were brought up, the losers didn't say whether Richie would be with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>girl.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Usually, it was just an offhand suggestion. Some way of feeling better. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then Bev specified. And that had bothered him. Richie knew he was, well, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>homosexual, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and was previously convinced the losers had figured it out on their own. And something about Bev saying he needed to fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>a girl</span>
  </em>
  <span> really got to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Richie?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah, I'm talking to Bev.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, I, my train of thought just, woosh. Yeah, no, something is up, Bev. It's my dick. A tragedy, I know-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Beep beep, Trashmouth. I'm serious here. What the fuck is going on with you lately?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie sighed. "Bev, I, it's something I don't think I'm ready to talk about, okay?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bev was quiet for a moment. "Okay. But please, when you can. Talk to me. Ben and I are worried. So are Bill and Mike. And I'm sure Eddie is, though he has shit going on it seems. Just, you know what I'm saying. We care about you, Richie. I have to go. Love you." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Love you too, Beverly." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The line clicked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Richie found himself alone, a few blocks from his apartment complex. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie ran his hand through his hair nervously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's been almost 30 fucking years that you've known, but fuck. You can't even admit it to your closest friends. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's not like it's really that big of a deal.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But it is. Fuck, it is. They'll hate me. They'll think I'm perverse. That I'm disgusting. Eddie will leave, and go to Ben or Bill, or fuck, even travel with Mike. He would fuck off and forget about you, find a new girl and fuck her and get married and I would die alone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. That's probably what's going to happen anyway. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The One Where Eddie Does Research</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, I guess I got internet today! So here ya go!</p><p>Warnings: the topic of suicide is brought up</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Eddie Spaghetti, wake up." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie groaned and rubbed his eyes. "What the fuck?" He looked around himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I fell asleep on the fucking couch? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shit!" He quickly stood up, trying to fix his disheveled self, looking for where Richie had gone off to. He looked down at his wrinkled polo shirt and unbuttoned jeans. The 40 year old stretched a little, attempting to wake up, and to get that ache out of his back from sleeping so uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where the hell did he go?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie stopped stretching and yawned, then began walking toward the bathroom. The door was partially open, so Eddie assumed he could enter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, it's just like Richie to wake me up rudely and then disappear. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie pushed the bathroom door open and made a sound of surprise. Richie was pissing. Richie made an awkward grunting sound and then said, "Fuck, Eds, I'm sorry!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie didn't bother correcting him and quickly exited, slamming the door behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Eddie, keep it down! Don't slam doors, I have neighbors!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie blushed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my God. I saw his- Oh my fucking God. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He groaned, his awkwardness growing second by second. "Richie I am so fucking sorry!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed from inside the bathroom. "Did you like what you saw, Eds?" His voice wavered a touch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie slid down along the doorframe, sitting on the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Beep, beep, Richie." His face flushed and he hid his face in his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie groaned into his hands awkwardly, hearing the toilet flush. Surprisingly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>at least to him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he heard the faucet squeak. The water ran for what felt like ages, before the door opened to reveal a slightly blushing Richie Tozier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie looked up, blushing harshly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Looking a little sick, there, Eds. Better make sure you don't </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep with the dust mites </span>
  </em>
  <span>again." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie nonchalantly walked away in his pajama pants and </span>
  <em>
    <span>long sleeve </span>
  </em>
  <span>pajama shirt. Eddie sat there, continuing to feel super embarrassed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn't deny it. I didn't say I disliked what I saw. Oh God, he's going to see right through me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Eds. I have to meet with my manager today, so you'll be on your own. And when I got home last night, I noticed you cleaned my entire apartment, except for that nasty ass couch </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>slept on. Anyway, pancakes?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighed and stood up, walking to the kitchen. "I'm sorry, Rich. I came here, crashed your apartment. All I have to offer is fucking, cleaning for you, like a fucking maid." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie looked up at Richie, who had stopped moving and was now staring Eddie down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I can leave any time you want." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie frowned. "Eddie, what the hell, man? Get that pretty face of yours out of the dirt. You can stay here as long as you want. Not even need, want. It would be totally awesome to be roommates with the son of the woman I'm banging, afterall." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I swear to fuck, Richie. Do you take anything serious?" Eddie groaned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed. "Eddie, I have 10 minutes to make pancakes for both of us, eat and get dressed. I don't have time for being serious!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I can cook, Richie. Go get dressed." Eddie stood and pushed Richie aside a little too roughly, but Richie just laughed. He didn't argue as Eddie took over cooking his pancakes, and instead sauntered down the hall to his room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie did his best at cooking the pancakes. He realized how long it had been since he had actually cooked any food. After all, he rarely ate breakfast at home, preferring to eat a granola bar or protein bar in his office. And dinner was usually something out of a box, cooked by Myra, or on rare occasions cooked from scratch by Myra. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of that mattered though as he awkwardly plated semi-burnt pancakes and set them on the dining table. A moment later, Richie joined him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh man, burnt exactly in the way I like them!" Richie dug in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie didn't eat as quickly, instead awkwardly admiring his </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After Richie finished his plate, he set it in the sink. "See, Eds, life is better with you here!" And then he quickly walked out the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Eddie blushed and finished his pancakes. Checking the time, he discovered he'd slept until almost 10 am. He decided to busy himself with doing dishes, and then checked the time again. 10:05 am. 1 pm in New York. </span><em><span>I've</span></em> <em><span>been here for a few days. This is okay. </span></em><span>He reorganized the fridge. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he vacuumed, one of the few things he didn't do while cleaning. He moved onto cleaning the bathroom, again. And then finally, the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie turned the vacuum back on, using a nozzle attachment to vacuum the couch. He mixed together water, vinegar and dish soap and went to town, cleaning the fuck out of the couch. Afterward, he sprinkled baking soda across it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited for a little while, wondering how Richie survived without a television. He glanced at the clock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>11:42 am. He had taken his sweet, dear time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, he got up and vacuumed the baking soda. Then he took a towel to the cushions, trying his hardest to dry the cushions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not sure how to spend the remaining time alone, Eddie decided to research Richie. He went into Richie's room where his bags still sat. He rolled his eyes at the disheveled sheets and awkwardly made the bed. Then he pulled the old computer out of his suitcase. The old thing was slow and barely worked, and of course it was the laptop Eddie had grabbed in desperation, instead of the almost brand new one he had bought for work only a month earlier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie opened the laptop and clicked it on. The screen took a moment to light up, and when it did, Eddie typed in his password. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spaghetti27. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, he had used that password before remembering everything, so don't give him grief. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiled. The loading screen was dark, but finally, the old computer opened to his desktop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh thank fuck, they have free WiFi.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie opened Google and typed in 'Richie Tozier', and then clicked on the search button. It loaded slowly, but finally, multiple articles popped up, ranging from an interview, to a commentary on his latest show. Eddie also spotted an article about "Why Richie Tozier, famous comedian, disappeared for a month after abandoning a show." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie went back to the search bar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie Tozier suicide.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The screen loaded slowly and Eddie tapped his fingers on his leg nervously. Finally, the screen showed articles, but nothing of interest was shown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie frowned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Has Richie Tozier attempted suicide?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once again, nothing but a few speculative articles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie tozier sudden break.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie clicked on the first article. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie Tozier, famous LA comedian, went off the map after having a breakdown on stage. He walked out, and, sources say, was later seen in an airport boarding a flight to Maine. His manager has released a statement saying the Richie is alive and well, but, however is taking some time off to deal with a sudden loss. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No other information has been provided.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie left the article and moved onto the next. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie Tozier has ended up in the hospital after what sources claim to be a sudden, severe illness, after his month long break. We can't help but wonder if this was some sort of overdose, or if he really is just ill.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie frowned and backed out of that article as well. The next few articles weren't of much help. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie closed the old laptop slowly, before opening it quickly when he thought of another question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie Tozier gay </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> A few articles popped up, but Eddie flipped through them, finding them to be nothing but speculation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is richie tozier gay?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing much changed from his previous search results. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What am I even doing?" Eddie shook his head and exited out of the tab before sliding the laptop back into his bag. He picked out clothes to change into, specifically into a light pink polo, and dark blue jeans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabbed his wallet, his broken phone, his inhaler, and his jacket. Luckily, Richie had given him a new jacket when he was still in the hospital after </span>
  <em>
    <span>It</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Eddie still had it. At first, he hadn't thought it to be his type of fashion, but it had grown on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a nice leather jacket, much like the one Richie had left the house in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie's face heated up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe it's too hot in here. I should go out for a little bit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie agreed with himself and left the apartment, leaving a note on the dining table as he was unable to text Richie. He exited the apartment complex and started walking back the way he walked from after landing. Richie didn't live too far from the airport, and there were a lot of interesting places in between. Or at least, interesting enough to give someone an excuse to waste hours if they didn't want to show up at their best friend's apartment unannounced while crying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Down the road a little, Eddie stopped in a small cafe. He ordered a hot chocolate and sat down in a booth. He sipped for a little bit, letting the hot cocoa heat him from the inside. After the cafe died down a little, he got up and walked to the counter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey, umm, I have a question!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A waitress, seemingly in her teens, smiled kindly at him over the counter. "What's up?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, I'm new in town. And well, my phone is broken. Is there anywhere around here, preferably walking distance, where I can get it fixed? Or even just to get a new phone?" He took a sip of his hot cocoa awkwardly, feeling a little stupid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The waitress nodded and pointed to her left. "If you go about 3 blocks that way, there's a cell phone repair shop." She smiled warmly at Eddie, who gave a quick thanks and walked outside with his hot cocoa.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie headed in the direction the waitress had directed him, doing his best to make a mental map of where he was going. After a while, he finally saw a small sign in front of a small store front. He sighed and rubbed his neck nervously, and stepped inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A bell on the door jingles and Eddie cringed. Other than a few rows of random technology (mostly gaming consoles, it seemed), the shop was empty. A bearded man sat at a desk at the back of the store, his feet up on the counter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie approached nervously, even though the guy waved at him and gave a welcoming smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hello, umm, I broke my phone about a week ago. I just, I don't think I will have enough money to fix it, but I, I mean, I don't even know if its able to be fixed." Eddie set the broken phone on the counter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Right to the point, wicked man." The guy picked up the phone. "Wow, this looks what I call, The Break Up. Let me guess, you broke up with your chick and she smashed it on the ground?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie groaned, not wanting to admit how true that was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ha, well, anyway. My name is Shane. If you want, I can take this to the back and take a look at how screwed you really are, then give you a price estimate." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie just nodded. He watched as Shane carried his broken phone away, leaving him alone. He had nothing to do, so he just stood and waited, tapping his foot nervously. Finally, Shane returned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I can't fucking believe it! </span>
  <em>
    <span>250 dollars, Richie? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I am not letting you pay that much for me!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugged, smirking. "Well, Eduardo, here's the thing. It's either I pay to get it fixed, or I will buy you a new phone. It's really an easy choice to make." He spun in the office chair he sat in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, god damn it! I don't need to rely on you! I am a grown adult man! I just don't have the money for it right now. I'll figure it out." Eddie was more anxious than he was angry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, you could always sell your body. I know someone who would buy it nightly, if you know what I mean." Richie wiggled his eyebrows </span>
  <em>
    <span>jokingly </span>
  </em>
  <span>at Eddie, who blushed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't mean prostitution, dumbass." Eddie blushed and sat down, setting his recently used inhaler on the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie watched him from his position on the couch, frowning. "You know, Eds. I'm serious, I can buy you a new phone. And, if it's that big of a deal, you can pay me back later." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie laid his head down, face first, onto the table. "Please don't." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie yawned and stretched a little. "Fine, whatever, Eddie. I'm exhausted and I've got to sleep- Oh! I just remembered," he dug in his jacket pockets, then pulled out a piece of folded paper. "Look what I got you!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie took the paper carefully and unfolded the paper. "A ticket to a show?" He studied it carefully for a moment. "Wait, is this for one of your shows?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie nodded excitedly. "It's for my show tomorrow night! I keep leaving you here and I figure this might be fun. Unless sitting here on your ass is fun." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiled, biting his lip, and blushed. "Thanks, Rich. Better be funny. Are you writing your own material yet? You know what, who cares? I'll just try to enjoy it. Anyway," He looked away, </span>
  <em>
    <span>blushing terribly, </span>
  </em>
  <span>"I'll take the couch. Goodnight, Richie."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his hands nervously and went to change in the bathroom. Richie got up and followed, heading for his bedroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he passed Eddie, Eddie felt a hand land on his shoulder. He tensed up. Richie spoke. "Goodnight, Eds." Eddie blushed again and turned away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, this is going to be difficult if he keeps being so god damn nice. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The One Where Richie is Hot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welp, I've got internet right now so here's an update. It's fairly short but it's important. <br/>Also, there is 100% a character named after my favorite Youtuber but shhh<br/>Also, small warning for a piss joke?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Richie drove Eddie to the nearby venue the next night. Eddie was dressed in regular clothes while Richie was wearing his best button up and jeans, </span>
  <em>
    <span>surprisingly </span>
  </em>
  <span>nervous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It went surprisingly fast. They arrived, Richie was rushed away by a small group of formally dressed men, and he waved to Eddie before disappearing down a hallway. Just a moment later, one of the men who had escorted Richie came back into view. He smiled warmly at Eddie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You must be Eds?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh my fuck- did Richie tell you to call me that? It's Eddie, not Eds. That's just, a stupid nickname he calls me." Eddie blushed, something he'd found himself doing regularly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, aha! Mr.Tozier has that kind of humor, I suppose. My name is Ethan. I'll be escorting you to your seat. And, Mr.Tozier has also requested that I stay with you if you want company." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie crossed his arms and rubbed his face, a little annoyed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don't need to be babied. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But he couldn't say no, could he? That would be rude.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay, well, if that's what, uhh, Richie wants."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ethan beamed, and then led Eddie to his seat, right in the front row. Eddie asked how long it would be, and he said they opened doors very soon, and that the actual show was going to start in around an hour. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They decided to go to the concessions, where Ethan got a discount. Eddie got a lemonade and unsalted pretzels. He didn't pay attention to what Ethan bought himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two went back to their seats. 30 minutes. A lot of the seats were filled now, and people continued filing in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie is bigger than I thought.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh God.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His face flushed in shame at thinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he looked down at his hands nervously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie half-listened to Ethan talk for a while. Then, suddenly, the lights were dim, and Ethan fell quiet. A moment later, a loud voice announced him and Richie </span>
  <em>
    <span>bounced </span>
  </em>
  <span>onto stage, energetic and smiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What's up, my name is Richie Tozier!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crowd around Eddie cheered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The show was great. Richie opened by regaling a stupid story about some ex-girlfriend, and then Eddie watched Richie prance back and forth across stage, telling stupid stories with stupid punchlines. He could see that Richie, while excited and clearly enjoying himself, was sweating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He's very attractive. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie choked on his lemonade. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, you know it's true. You're getting divorced, asshole, let yourself feel what you feel. You know you've looked at men like this before, what's so wrong about it now?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's wrong because he's just my best friend. Nothing more. Its different than noticing a stranger in this way. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie looked back up at Richie on stage and smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. He's so hot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ethan led Eddie backstage after the show was over, and Eddie found himself nervous for a whole new reason than before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So are all those girlfriend jokes legit?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie scoffed. "What? No way. Everyone wants Mr. Tozier, but Mr. Tozier is terrified of commitment and his own secrets." He spoke in third person with a thick Russian accent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie decided to not dwell on his response and instead rolled his eyes. "I totally see all the girls falling all over you." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie gave Ethan a quick thanks before Richie took him away, quickly rushing to his car through the back door they'd entered from. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie, still energetic, asked Eddie if he wanted to go out for dinner. Eddie agreed and Richie drove them to a small diner. </span>
</p><p>---</p><p>
  <span>"And then she looked me in the eyes and said "I thought you wanted piss?" And I had to genuinely ask her how the hell she got that vibe from me." Richie had launched into a story immediately after they got to the diner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sure there are some kinky things I'd be down to do, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh honey, </span>
  </em>
  <span>there were so many reasons I had to turn her down. Firstly, she looked like she'd crawled straight out of a crack house, second, I didn't even know her, third, dating fans sounds terrifying, and fourth, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not my type.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie was laughing hysterically, though he still managed to pick up on subtle phrases Richie said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not his type. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie wondered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie, having been sheltered most of his life had never heard of most of the things Richie joked about. Which were, well, usually sexual. However, that was part of why they were funny. He didn't know that people could be into </span>
  <em>
    <span>piss</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He also laughed along because he could see how happy it made Richie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed and smiled </span>
  <em>
    <span>warmly </span>
  </em>
  <span>at Eddie, taking a sip of his milkshake. He reached across the table and stole a fry from Eddie's plate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Asshole." Eddie jabbed, without malice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie just laughed it off. "So, Eddie Spaghetti, got any stories for me?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie blushed and hid his face. Eddie didn't want to be honest and tell Richie that he knew next to nothing about sex except for the rare occasion with Myra. Though that has stopped over a year ago and was definitely never on the table after defeating It. At that point, it felt wrong to be with her in any intimate way. Eddie couldn't even remember the last time they kissed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Eddie?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie looked up at a concerned looking Richie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, sorry. I got lost in thought." Eddie smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie sat back in his seat, still a little concerned. "We don't need to talk about this anymore, Eds." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie rolled his eyes. "Don't call me that, Trashmouth." </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The One Where Eddie Calls Myra</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OKAY BIG WARNING FOR HOMOPHOBIC SLURS.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Can I use your phone to call Myra?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie tapped his foot impatiently while Richie looked him up and down. Richie, who was devouring a bowl of cheerios, slowly lid the smartphone across the table. It was already unlocked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie thanked Richie and walked to the bathroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't watch too much porn on that thing, I don't want a virus!" He laughed loudly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. He looked down at the phone in his hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I shouldn't snoop. </span>
  </em>
  <span>However, he couldn't help but smile fondly at the background, a selfie of Richie, Bev and Eddie, sitting in the hospital back in Bangor. Eddie stopped staring at the background and used the phone for what he needed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He called Myra. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It rang three times before she picked up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Myra?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Eddie, baby! Are you coming back? I've been worried sick! Oh honey, when will you be landing, I'll be there waiting and-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Myra, stop. I'm not coming back. We, we need to discuss our divorce. I can't just stay here ignoring it forever." Eddie said, angrily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was quiet on the other end of the line. "You're still with that </span>
  <em>
    <span>faggot </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richard Tozier, aren't you?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't fucking call him that." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are, are you a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little fag </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him, Eddiebear?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie was silent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He knew the answer. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Myra suddenly choked up. "Oh my god, I married a </span><em><span>faggot. </span></em><span>How could you do this to me?</span> <span>Did you ever even love me?" </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighed. "No, Myra. I didn't." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myra began crying, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Myra, god dammit. Stop crying. I just, all I want is to break this as cleanly as possible. Just, what do you want? You can have anything from me. Take my car, keep the house. All of the money in our bank account. I don't give a shit, have it. I just want this to end."  Eddie nervously ran his hand through his hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a knock at the door and Eddie cracked the door open a touch. Richie's slightly concerned face was on the other side. "Everything okay, Eds?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie frowned at him, but nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie sighed and said, "Well, I was planning on going shopping and, well, I want to keep my schedule. So, I'm leaving now. You can keep my phone for now, I'll just take it when I get back."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myra let a loud sob out, and Eddie cringed. Richie frowned but slowly shut the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Myra, calm down-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't tell me to calm down! Here I am, believing I was happily married, just to find out my husband of five years is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>queer </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he hates me so much he's letting me have everything instead of even trying to fight for anything!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She took a shaky breath. Eddie didn't speak. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I want everything. Everything I can have, I want it." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> "You, you can have it. I'll be there in a few days to get this done with. And I will not be staying. I'll be flying back here. And Myra? Don't ever fucking call Richie, o-or me, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>faggot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, ever again." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Myra could respond, Eddie hung up. Shakily, he set Richie's still open phone down on the sink counter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he reached over and locked the door. He looked around the room, seeing if there was a fan of any sort. There wasn't. He turned on the shower. Then he let go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm a fucking faggot." Eddie's voice wavered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No. Calm down, Eddie. You're just," Eddie looked himself in the eyes. "You're just gay." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Richie got home, carrying bags of groceries and a Starbucks coffee, He noticed that Eddie wasn't in the living room as he had expected. Instead, he could hear the shower running. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie heard him come in. He wasn't taking a shower. He was simply watching himself in the mirror. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks like I've been crying.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mostly because he had been crying. Sobbing, really. Hysterically sobbing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had calmed down now, taken a puff (okay, admittedly it'd been more than one) of his inhaler, and managed to stop crying. But you could still see that it had taken place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighed and turned the shower off. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, gave his best smile, and opened the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Richie?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He came into the living room, where Richie sat at the dining table eating gummy worms. He looked up, a red worm hanging from his smiling mouth. His face immediately dropped and he quickly chewed and swallowed the gummy worm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Eds, are you okay?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie didn't correct him, instead grabbing Richie and pulling him into a much needed hug. Richie didn't argue, instead tightening the hug and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait he's petting </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie's hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I, I, Richie, I have to go back to New York. I-" He choked on himself and stopped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why is this so god damn painful?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie tensed. "What?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm flying back to New York. I, to settle the divorce." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie hugged Eddie even tighter. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Will you come back?" </span>
  </em>
  <span>He sounded, almost broken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie pulled out of the hug. "I don't really have anywhere else to go." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just. I know I'm not usually serious. About anything, really. But I need to be serious with you. After leaving Derry, as a kid I mean, I forgot you, and all of the losers. I think we all forgot, like Mike said. And I mean, when I saw you at that diner, the Jade, I realized I'd lost my family when I forgot you guys. And then you almost died and I just, I can't do it again. I know I would still have the others, Bev is a great friend, sure. Bill is basically my brother. But you, you're my </span>
  <em>
    <span>best friend. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I can't lose you again. I'm terrified of losing you." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie found himself speechless, unable to say much more than Richie's name. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie's </span>
  <em>
    <span>crush</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be much harder to forget now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Richie," He couldn't say it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie looked at him with teary eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I promise I'll come back." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Panic. Panic. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I, I need my inhaler." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie made a strangled sound and forced him to sit before running to his bedroom. He ran back into the room and gave Eddie his inhaler. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Eddie. Just, stay in my life. That's all I ask." </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>Eddie nodded. "I'll </span>
  <em>
    <span>come back. </span>
  </em>
  <span>New York sucks ass anyway."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The One Where Richie Gets Drunk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welp, there drinking in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Richie was alone. Eddie had left two days earlier and, of course, Richie hadn't heard from him since. His phone was broken, after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie was alone. And he didn't want to feel this alone. He had lived alone for most of his adult life. But now, with Eddie gone, he felt lonelier than ever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie was alone. So he got drunk off his balls. He pulled vodka out of his fridge, the bottom shelf, and drank straight from the bottle. There was only about a fourth of the bottle left, so he downed it all. Richie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kneeled. He pulled an unopened bottle out and spun the label to face him, laughing. "Kinky!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't bother to check what kind it was, instead quickly popping it open and downing a drink of it. He set it down, and decided to lay down on the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was drunk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Giggling at himself, he decided that the most rational thing to do was text Beverly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opened up his texts, and stared for a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to scroll past his manager, and a few other people that helped with his show. Then Ethan, that poor kid. Then Bill. They had had a short conversation about the book he was working earlier that day. Then Bev.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie clicked her contact, accidentally calling her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ahh, shit! Fuck!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He quickly hung up before she could answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was quick to forgot his mistake as he pulled open their text messages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: bdvvvvvvvv</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: bevvbb</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: bdvvy can ww talk</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bev: richie, are you drunk?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie snickered and rolled over onto his stomach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: maybe</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: you say thay eddie is hard 2 live wit</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: but hea not hes rsLly cool </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bev: you should go to bed </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: nno</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stretched a little and frowned. Bev just didn't want to listen, maybe. Or maybe he should go to bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: why dp make fin of him</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: hes nor just coil </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: cool</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bev: richie go to bed</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie rolled back onto his back and dropped his phone on his face. He groaned and picked it back up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: eds os hot</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: fukcin hotttt </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: he cleaasn for mw </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bev: we'll talk about this tomorrow. I'm going to bed. Get some sleep, Richie </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: go t fukin bed Bev </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: ill stay up as laye a I want</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You: ilk jakc off hahahaja </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed hysterically, hoping that what he said would bother Bev. He closed his phone after a while of waiting for a response, then sighed dramatically. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fell asleep soon after, sprawled out on the couch, drooling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning, or rather the next afternoon, Richie woke up with a terrible headache. His mouth was dry and he had to quickly pull curtains to cover the kitchen window and the terribly bright sun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Holy fuck. Why the hell did I get drunk last night? That was such a big mistake." </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least I have all day to sleep it off. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood in the dark kitchen for a moment, trying to steady himself before he threw up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood there, eyes closed, for a long lasting minute. Then he blinked a few times, deciding it was safe to move. He pulled a cup out of the cabinet and filled it with sink water. Richie proceeded to down the whole cup, chugging it like his life depended on it. He slammed the cup down, and rested his hands palm down on the counter. "Fucking hell." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is his least favorite part about getting drunk. It's all fun and games until you wake up feeling like shit the next morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His phone rang. The loud sound sent shock waves of pain through his temple, and he groaned. "Dammit!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His phone stopped ringing. He slowly made his way to the couch, then leaned down to pick his phone up from the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned the screen on, and cringed at how bright it was. He turned the brightness down blindly and then squinted at the screen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>4 missed calls. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie facepalmed as he opened the messages between Beverly and him the night before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my god. I fucked up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a moment, he debated on whether to call her back. Then, he got a text that made up his mind for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bev: I swear to fuck, if you dont call me back by dinnertime I will fly to la to talk to you</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie knew one thing for certain. If she flew to LA, he wouldn't be able to talk about what his texts meant. Hell, he had only said it out loud once before, and he was alone and half baked. It had been years ago, when he was still a rising comedian. He had since stopped smoking weed and had never said it out loud again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there's a first, or rather, a second, for everything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clicked the call button. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She answered almost immediately. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Richie-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wow, wow. Talk quieter, I have a massive headache." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Obviously! I-hold on." There was a shuffling, and Richie heard Ben's voice as the couple talked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hi Richie!" Ben spoke into the phone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie rolled his eyes, but smiled at his familiar voice. "Haystack!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben laughed. "How have things been, Rich? We haven't talked much. Though I hear a lot about you from Bev. You know she worries a lot for you." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie didn't respond immediately. "I know. And things have been okay. Better recently. How have you been?"  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben laughed again. "I've been great, Richie!" He said something to Bev quietly. "Bev wants the phone back! Promise we'll keep up?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah I promise." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was more shuffling on the other end, and Richie pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment, thinking he was going to throw up. The feeling passed quickly and he pressed the device back to his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hi Bev." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bev spoke softly. "Hi Richie." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was quiet, but not awkward like Richie had expected. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry about last night. I was shit faced." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bev hummed. 'I could tell." She giggled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie didn't know what to say. Luckily, Beverly filled the space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I know this is probably pushing my limit, but, were you just making jokes? Or were you being serious?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You caught me! I didn't jack off last night!" Richie laughed nervously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bev snorted. "You know that's not what I mean, Rich." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uhh, Bev, that's, well. I can't just laugh it off, can I?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No. Richie, it's okay. If you're gay." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie choked on himself. "Thinking a man is hot doesn't make me gay, Bev." He laughed nervously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beverly didn't say anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Bev. I, well fuck. What do you want me to say? Hey, I'd totally fuck Eddie! Well, there! I would. And if I wasn't so in love with him I would probably fuck your fiance if he was willing. Why? Because dicks are fucking hot, Bev. You ever seen a dick? They're so much better than vaginas and fuck if I-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beverly interrupted, giggling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What's so funny? I'm just saying it as it is! I'm gay!" His voice wavered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. Am I going to cry? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fuck, Bev, I'm sorry. I, fuck. I have to go." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No! Richie! It's okay, I love you. You're still Richie and I'm still your friend. God, Richie. Don't hang up on me." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie was quiet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, fuck. I'm crying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Rich? Are, are you crying?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He started crying harder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh honey, Richie. It's okay. I love you, and I'm sure everyone else will still love you. This doesn't change anything about our friendship." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I, fuck. I, god dammit, I love you guys. I, I don't know why I'm crying, shit. I, I love you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That wasn't true. Well, the "I love you," was, but he knew why he was crying. He cried because he had hid it for so long. He cried because he actually admitted it. He cried because Bev still loved him. He cried because someone knew his </span>
  <em>
    <span>dirty little secret </span>
  </em>
  <span>and didn't hate him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"God dammit, Bev. I love you guys."</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The One Where Eddie Comes Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fun fun, we have some poorly placed sex jokes, piss jokes and the usual discomfort I share through all my writing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>To say Richie was excited was an understatement. He arrived at the airport four hours early. He'd woken up way before his alarm and couldn't wait to show up. He would never tell Eddie that, of course. He would probably end up making a stupid or rude joke about forgetting him, or about being too busy fucking his mom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, once his excitement died down, Richie realized that being to the airport </span>
  <em>
    <span>four whole ass hours </span>
  </em>
  <span>before Eddie's flight landed was a little bit too much. Getting up from his seat, Richie looked around for a bathroom. He had been through this airport countless times, you think he would know where the bathroom was by now. However, he had gained the bad habit of arriving without time to spare, preferring to sleep late and waste time. His manager Steve had always got on his ass about it, and of course Richie always made stupid jokes back. He swore, someday Steve was going to beat his ass for all of his half witted jokes and jabs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But today was not the day Richie would be almost late. No. He showed up </span>
  <em>
    <span>four motherfucking hours </span>
  </em>
  <span>early and sat for one of those hours, anxiously shaking his leg. He needed to get up and move. Part of him craved to go outside and have a smoke, but he had quit smoking a while back. Perhaps it was just his nerves, or maybe it was an old habit he would never truly kick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie checked the time. He still had two hours and 40 ish minutes until Eddie would arrive. It was only 9 am. Richie sighed. He glanced around, unsure if he should ask someone for directions to the restroom or if he should chance it on his own. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it, I have almost three hours. I can just find it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took off in the direction he would later find out was the opposite direction from the bathroom. He might have wasted a good portion of an hour, but his bladder was unhappy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he turned around after seeing a sign pointing in the direction he came from, Richie checked the time. He still had a little under two whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking hours</span>
  </em>
  <span> to go. He groaned and picked up his pace. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm going to fucking piss myself in a fucking giant airport. At least I'll have a story for my shows. If I can even get my writers to write it in. Fuck, I should start doing my own material again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie saw another bathroom sign, this time pointing him up an escalator. Or, rather, the stairs he decided to run up two steps at a time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm not pissing myself in a fucking airport. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie reached the top of the stairs and saw the men's bathroom sign. He ran in and quickly pissed. I'll spare you the details. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After Richie was done, he washed his hands (look, Eddie is right in that Richie isn't the most hygienic, but he washes his hands after pissing) and walked out of the bathroom. He checked the time. Still only a little under two hours. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I could call someone and just chat it up? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie was pulled from his thoughts as he heard someone gasp nearby. He looked up, attempting to find the source. Then he found it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A young woman (which to Richie means anyone under 30 or so, but this woman was at most 20) was, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what does the internet call it, oh yeah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>fangirling behind him. He smiled widely and waved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She blushed terribly hard. "I can't believe I'm like, 5 fucking feet away from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie Tozier!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well you can do better than that! Get the fuck over here and give me a hug!" He motioned for her to come closer and took a few steps closer as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fan came over and tenderly hugged him. Richie was smiling wide. He really enjoyed interacting with fans, especially those who respected him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So kid!" Richie pulled out of the hug. "You got a name? Or, wait, no, let me guess. Your name is, Anita, short for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anita Knapp.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wow, my jokes are getting worse!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she did laugh, and Richie felt happy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"My name is April! April Terping! I, I'm going to cry, oh my god! This is like a dream come true! I've seen all of your sets, and I've seen you live like, four times! I've always wanted to meet you in person! I, my mom thinks I'm crazy for loving your shit so much, but it's so hard to explain. Like, I just, I fucking love you and-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You remind me of my friend, you know that?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>April stopped talking and blushed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"How old are you? I'm guessing, hmm, 20 at the oldest." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm, I'm 19."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, what brings you to this lonely LA airport at," he checked his phone, "10:12 am on a Saturday?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I, umm, I just arrived from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I'm moving in with my </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie smiled widely. "Another Maine native?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>April's eyes lit up. "Yes! I actually come from Bangor! You come from Derry, right? I've been there!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie felt his smile falter, but he tried to hide it. "Yeah! Place is a shit hole, but it's my childhood I guess."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, my girlfriend is from Derry, actually. She moved as soon as she could, which was like, late summer. I don't know, she started planning as soon as that terrible attack happened. I'm sure you've heard about-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Adrian. Yeah, I, I heard. That one was rough to hear about, let me tell you. That was my hometown, and I just can't help but think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that could have been me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>To make it worse, I then had to go back and almost lost a person who means the world to me, after losing one of my best friends from my childhood." </span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was silent for a moment. Then Richie realized what he said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn't say I'm gay. I may have implied it but that doesn't mean she'll take it as such. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is that when you walked out on a show after forgetting a joke? Everyone thinks you were high or something."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh." Richie took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'd just gotten some pretty bad news, which is why I had to go back to Derry, and I just, my brain went </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck is happening</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I fucked up." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>April smiled. "We all have shit happen. And I mean, it's inspiring to know you've been through tough shit and you're still pushing." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's inspiring to see a fan of mine living an honest life. You're over here, fucking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>going to live with your girlfriend </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I can't even admit my feelings to people. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, I'm a 40 year old and I'm still sitting here with no one." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was quiet again. "Hey, sorry kid. I shouldn't go on about this with a fan. Steve would be riding my ass if he were here." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>April giggles. "I'm happy to listen to you. It's honestly like, a reality check. You're famous, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but you still have emotions </span>
  </em>
  <span>and shit." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie smiled. "So, you got any social media?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>April nodded, blushing. "I have, uhh, I have a fanpage and a private account on instagram." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fuck yes, hand 'em over!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>April gave Richie both accounts, and Richie followed them. April's phone rang and she said her girlfriend was waiting for her outside. Then the two snapped a few selfies quickly and Richie told April he would like if she didn't tell people about his emotional issues, but her girlfriend could totally know. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then she hugged him again and left. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie checked the time. He had about an hour left. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it, I'll just play on my phone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he did just that, until it was almost 12. Then he quickly grabbed a bite to eat from one of the stores in the airport. And then he waited by the luggage claim. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he saw Eddie, his heart leapt out of his chest. Eddie clearly hadn't spotted him yet, as he was staring at his feet and frowning slightly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That won't do. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie hurried over to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Eds!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie quickly looked up, his face turning bright red. "Rich, don't call me that!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cute cute cute. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie smiled widely and followed Eddie as he looked for his luggage. When Eddie pointed it out, Richie quickly grabbed both suitcases and refused to let Eddie take either. The two talked as Richie led them to his car. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So, you're a free man now! We should celebrate! I'll take you to a high end bar, and you can bone all the hot chicks while I fuck your mom. Wait, even better idea! You-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie interrupted him. "However much fun getting drunk and listening to shitty jokes sounds, would it be okay if we just went back to your apartment? I need sleep." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And then I'll help you get back into </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely boning hot girls </span>
  </em>
  <span>because I don't want to see you all mopey and shit." Richie knew he was pushing it, but his insecurities and nervousness made him want to hide in his offensive humor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It's why comedy was his thing, after all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. "I," he sighed, "I don't think I'm going to do that." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why not though? You wouldn't be cheating. You aren't dating anyone, unless you're hiding someone from me. And we both know that's not true." </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why, why did you say that? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie seemed to think for a moment before answering. "The only real relationship I've had </span>
  <em>
    <span>with a woman</span>
  </em>
  <span> was Myra, and it wasn't right. It was loveless. I think I'll probably just, stay out of the dating scene for a while until I figure out what I want." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie took this as a possible hint. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe Eddie is gay? Probably not.</span>
  </em>
  <span> "Maybe it was loveless because you don't like women. And if that were the case, I wouldn't give a shit. I don't say this often, but I fucking love you. You're my best friend no matter what, even if you murdered someone! Unless it was me, of course." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie noticed Eddie tense. He seemed as if was going to speak. But he closed his open mouth and shook his head. "I don't want to have such a serious conversation. I just want to enjoy myself for a little before I really think about what I'm doing next." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was comfortably quiet after Eddie finished. And, for once, Richie didn't want to run his trashmouth. His mind was too far gone, stuck on what Eddie had said. Or, rather, what he hadn't said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn't say no. He didn't say he isn't gay.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The One Where It's Christmas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Cheesy cheesy. Sorry its been so long.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was 6 am. Richie was wide awake and standing in the study, watching Eddie sleep on the blow up mattress he had bought while Eddie was gone. He glanced at Eddie's suitcases, taking note of the bag of pills that sat on top of one. Richie frowned a little, but could tell there were fewer medications than the last time he looked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie had fallen asleep early the night before, doing who knows what on his computer. The laptop was still sitting open, the screen dark. Eddie was laying on his stomach, his face down in the pillows and his arms stretched above his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Cute cute cute. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie moved a little making a </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute little sound </span>
  </em>
  <span>and rolled onto his back, pulling his arms into his chest. Eddie's eyes stayed closed for a moment longer. But then his doe eyes slid open and caught Richie's eyes. Richie stuck his tongue out and crossed his (</span>
  <em>
    <span>in his own opinion, dopey</span>
  </em>
  <span>) eyes. The still sleepy man rolled his eyes but smiled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Eds. It's Christmas." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie smiled but groaned and rolled over, shoving his face back into his pillows. "What time is it?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing at his phone, Richie spoke. "It's 6:12 am."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie rolled back over and sat up. "Why are we awake?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie shrugged. "I just am. And isn't it like, 9 am in New York? You should be fine." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie rolled his eyes but stood up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look at those boxers, you- Oh my god, I need to get a hold of myself. Get your mind out of the trash, Trashmouth. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So, Spaghetti Man, I was thinking, we should go out and do something before I give you your present. What do you think?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie's nose wrinkled up, much like he would do when they were children. Richie felt his heart swell. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You got me a present?" He blushed. "I got you something too. But, I don't have a lot of money so it's nothing big." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was comfortably quiet for a moment before Eddie looked down at himself and spoke. "I should get dressed. And I need to shower. I haven't showered since two days ago. Do you know how many germs I've come into contact with since? I'm probably going to get sick." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie snorted. "Good to see divorce has barely changed you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie frowned, but Richie could see the tug of a smile on the corner of his lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His lips. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Richie, shut up. Where do you want to go today anyway? I'm sure there's not a lot of places open today. There never was in New York on any holiday, especially Christmas. And the places that are open are always extremely sketchy and most likely infected with terrible diseases and-" He blushed and stopped talking, scoffing at himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie smiled widely, already knowing where they would be going. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You might not ever love me like I love you, but I will still enjoy every moment of our time together. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, Eddie baby, it's a surprise. Now get yourself together! Ándele Eduardo!" He clapped twice, being obnoxious purposefully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie scoffed as Richie turned to leave the room. "Oh, and also, you have like, ten minutes to shower, at most. We're on a schedule, Eds." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie was fully aware that they had three hours before the play started, because yes, he was taking Eddie to a play. Despite knowing how much time they had until it began, Richie loved pestering Eddie and knew it would bother him to have to shower and do whatever the fuck a hypochondriac does in a shower in such a short amount of time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie stretched a little as he left the room, a quickly moving Eddie behind him. Richie slowly walked down the hallway as Eddie sped into the bathroom behind him, carrying a bag of what Richie assumed was a mix of morning pills and various types of soaps. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie stripped off his clothes, revealing his slightly chubby belly. He looked down at himself. "When did I become a middle aged man?" He rolled his eyes and pulled a drawer open. He pulled out some random clothes, topping it off with a colorful button up. This shirt was bright yellow with little birds everywhere. Richie smiled, knowing Stan would have appreciated the birds. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before leaving his room, he grabbed his jacket and slid it on. He walked into the living room where a nervous Eddie, hair still wet from his quick shower, stood. Eddie looked more put together in less than 10 minutes than Richie ever had, at least if you don't count the times he was shoved into a suit and slapped with make up until he didn't look like him to make an appearance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie wore a nice light pink polo shirt and blue jeans. He didn't seem to care about his own appearance, however, as he asked roughly about breakfast. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Excuse you, Spaghetti. It's a fucking holiday, the only finger I'm lifting is the one I'm putting in your mom. Now-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie groaned. "Beep beep, Richie." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Now, let's go to a nice little cafe I know is open. They've got some good fucking hot cocoa, man. You will not believe it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Isn't this hot cocoa to kill for? I would say to die for but fuck that. I'm quite enjoying this shit hole of a planet."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie blew on his cup, watching Eddie, who stared down into his cup.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie had tensed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie sipped on his drink, watching Eddie take a drink, his hands wrapped around the mug tightly. He was tense, nervous. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their waitress came over and set down their breakfasts. Eddie glanced up. "This is dairy free, right?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The waitress nodded. "Yes, sir." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For most of the breakfast, they ate peacefully, Richie making stupid jokes here and there, mostly at his own expense. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After they finished their meal, Richie checked the time. About an hour and a half until the show starts. With traffic, it would take them around an hour to get to the theater. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Eds, we've gotta go. Hurry your ass up." He picked up his garbage and shoved it into the garbage can behind him. Eddie scoffed and followed suit, remarking that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eds is not his fucking name. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The two of them walked out of the cafe, Eddie waving goodbye to their waitress. They quietly walked back to Richie's car, and Richie got into the driver's seat. He turned the radio on, though it was playing quietly, and they drove away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"A museum? Richie, you hate anything involving learning, why are we at a museum?" Eddie seemed almost bewildered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't hate learning, Eds. I just hate being forced to learn. And anyway, we aren't here for the boring ass museum. Now let's go, ándele!" Richie led him into the building. They bypassed the desk to pay for the museum and stepped into a stairwell. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Richie, I swear to fuck, if you're planning on murdering me," Eddie didn't finish his statement, instead taking a deep breath. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie paused them. "Do you need your inhaler?" He reached into his pocket and palmed the inhaler he had made sure to grab, even though he was fully aware Eddie would have one as well. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie shook his head, gritting his teeth. "No, fuck. Let's just keep going." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They reached the bottom of the stairs and Richie held the door open for Eddie. They entered into a small carpeted hallway. At the end of the hall was another door, where a doorman waited. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie smiled at the doorman and pulled two tickets from his pocket. The doorman hole punched them both and handed them back. "You're a little early, Mr. Tozier." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie nodded. "I know. Just wanted some time to enjoy the theater." He threw the doorman a quick smile and pulled Eddie into the theater. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie and Richie bantered back and forth for a little bit before more people began filing in. The play began soon. Eddie leaned over and asked what play it was, and Richie told him to shush, it's the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Buttcracker. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie began feeling tired soon after Drosselmeyer gave Clara and Fritz the nutcracker. And yes, he was sort of paying attention, though he had to admit that most of his attention was on Eddie, who was pulled into the play. Feeling a little overheated and extremely exhausted, Richie pulled his jacket off and laid it on the empty seat next to him. Eddie glanced at him then, a surprised look crossing his face for a moment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie fell asleep around the time the nutcracker turned into a handsome prince.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The One Where Eddie Gets Nervous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Uhh, mentions of scars? <br/>More piss because that's my kind of dumb humor.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He could feel his face flushed with heat as Richie leaned on his shoulder. Eddie had been trying his best to focus on the play before this, telling himself this wasn't anything like a date. It was just Richie being nice. But the minute Richie slumped onto him sleepily, Eddie couldn't focus on the play. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were three reasons Eddie was uncomfortable. First and foremost, Richie was sleeping on him. It was both adorable and terrifying. Second off, Eddie needed to piss, and holding your piss is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not healthy at fucking all,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he didn't dare disturb Richie. And, lastly, his eyes landed on Richie's bare arms as he remembered the scars that he'd seen the first night he stayed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The scars didn't look as bad as when Eddie had previously seen them. However, they definitely did exist. Eddie subconsciously put his hand over Richie's, as if to comfort the sleeping man. He didn't realize he'd done so until a moment later, but he didn't move. Eddie instead relaxed further back into his seat and did his best to focus on the rest of the play.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was near the end of the play when Richie shifted in his seat. Eddie nervously took his hand away. Richie didn't open his eyes for a moment, but when he did he blushed and quickly pulled away from Eddie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two thoughts raced through his mind. First, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is he embarrassed to touch me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>And second, but more important, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is he gay? maybe he likes me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie tried to shut that thought down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He's probably not gay. At least he's supportive though. You can be safe with him. And even if he lied and would hate me, you have your working laptop now. I can email Bill and he would take me in. Or I could even join Mike on his road trip. He'd love company I'm sure. God damn, Eddie. Stop worrying so much. Just do it. Just tell him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie glanced over at Richie, who was staring forward at the play with sleepy eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not right now. But I'll tell him. I'll tell him today. I'm done being ashamed. I'm done with fear, stupid, clumsy fear. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The play was over soon after Eddie made his decision. Richie stood up first. Eddie quietly told him he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>going to fucking piss himself. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They stopped at the bathroom where Eddie relieved himself. And then they walked back to Richie's car, the whole time Eddie staying quiet while Richie rambled about where they could eat. At one point Eddie snorted in laughter after Richie made a joke about a barbecue restaurant. Otherwise, he stayed quiet, thinking about his decision. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie started the car and looked at Eddie for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>long, fuck why is he staring at me </span>
  </em>
  <span>moment. Eddie made it a point not to stare back, but he could feel his face heating up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They drove away from the theater, back the direction they came. Soon, Richie, who had been rambling about random things the entire time, pulled into a parking lot. The restaurant was large, but clearly not a very expensive place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie, still locked into his thoughts, quietly followed Richie into the restaurant. They got a small booth. Richie started looking through the menu. Eddie picked his up as well, glancing over the options before settling on a pasta. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hello! I'll be your waiter today!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie looked up from his hands to a teen boy who had a wide smile on his face. He was blushing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and staring at Richie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, something you need to know is how scared Eddie was. Not of the waiter, who's name tag read Nathan, but rather of telling someone his secret, let alone telling Richie. At the moment, Nathan, the waiter, showed up, he had been trying any reason he could to not tell him. Of course, he feared rejection. But he trusted the trashmouth enough to believe that he wasn't lying when he promised to love him regardless of his orientation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Nathan, the waiter, appeared at their table, Eddie was still locked in his inner turmoil. Richie, on the other hand, was apparently quite ready to please a fan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, Eddie simply watched as Nathan stared at Richie in glee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm so sorry, but I just, I love your shows. I look up to you so much, you're like, my idol." Nathan spoke quickly in a high pitched, excited voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie glanced at Eddie. "Thanks kid, why you'd look up to me is a mystery, but thanks." He followed it with a small laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I went to your last show with </span>
  <em>
    <span>my boyfriend </span>
  </em>
  <span>and-" He kept talking, but Eddie's mind got caught on that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His boyfriend. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked at Richie, gauging his reaction. He could see something behind his smile, but it wasn't disgust, or anger, or malice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie said something to Nathan, who laughed nervously. Eddie watched as they took a picture together, and then Nathan looked at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Umm, I'm sorry for interrupting. I can take your order?" He was still blushing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiled at the boy. "Yeah, umm. Could I have the spaghetti platter?" Before Richie could speak, he glared at him. "And don't say anything, fucknut." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed loudly. "Spaghetti Man! This is cannibalism!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie shook his head, laughing quietly. Richie gave his order. Something greasy and unhealthy sounding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After Nathan walked away, Richie smirked at Eddie. "You've been really fucking quiet, Eds. Usually you talk a mile a minute." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighed. "Richie, I need to talk about something serious." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie nodded, but didn't speak. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was quiet for a long moment. Eddie took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm gay." </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, I said it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie's heart was in his throat. He waited, any moment now Richie would make a rude joke, or get upset, or just tell him he knew. He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation. But Richie didn't speak. Eddie opened his eyes. Richie was simply leaning forward on his elbows. He looked like he was thinking. Eddie felt like his brain was short circuiting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie opened his mouth as if he were going to speak. Then he closed it. Eddie leaned forward and clenched his hands in his hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's, that's fine." Richie's voice wavered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie didn't look up. He heard Richie's chair squeak as he stood up. "I'm, I need to piss." Eddie looked up as Richie walked away. For a moment, he stayed seated, nervous. Then decided, fuck it, whatever happens happens. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he entered the bathroom, Richie was standing in front of the sink, mumbling something to himself. Eddie cleared his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Umm, I can, I can go. If it makes you uncomfortable." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie looked confused for a moment. "You mean, like, take a piss?" Then his face changed as he realized. "Oh." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie's face changed from surprise to hurt to fear. "Please don't leave. It really is fine. It doesn't bother me. I'm just, I guess I just got a little caught off guard. It's not what I was expecting." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie felt tears well in the corners of his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don't fucking cry. You're a grown ass man.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Want a hug?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie nodded vigorously and Richie pulled him into a hug. Eddie cried into him for a while before Richie coughed and pulled away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We should probably go eat."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bad idea on how to come out. But like its semi-based on something i did so shhhh</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. (NOT AN UPDATE)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hello y'all! I just wanted to say, I did not forget sbout this work. </p><p>I've been dealing with a lot of personal issues and took a much needed break from posting on places like this. I continued to write and am going to be posting fandom related vent shorts seperately soon. </p><p>When i update this with an actual chapter, i am going to be deleting this. I just figured I should make it clear im not dropping this and it will be finished.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The One With Presents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Oh hohoho I'm back!<br/>Warning for internalized homophobia. nsfw topics are brought us as well, but only in passing mention.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richie unlocked his apartment, glancing at the 27 before pushing the door in. He held it open for Eddie, who had been standing behind him, tapping his foot nervously. </p><p>Eddie walked in quickly, excusing himself to the bathroom. Richie watches him walk across the living room and push the door open. He's gay. He's gay. I'm gay too. </p><p>Richie had wanted to tell him at lunch when Eddie had told him. But some force held him back. Fear. </p><p>Stupid, clumsy fear. </p><p>Richie had gone a long time having that fear. He faked heterosexuality when he got a manager. He feigned being straight with his writers. He pretended to be someone he wasn't with his friends. He would hate to admit it, but he hadn't even had a gay experience. He'd only ever kissed girls, and yeah, he wasn't a virgin. But admittedly, none of those experiences had been with a man. </p><p>He hadn't gotten around much during high school after leaving Derry. He had a girlfriend quickly, but when it came to intimacy, well, let's put it like this. Richie became known as 'the guy who cried during sex.' And he never did live it down. Part of him was okay with that. It gave him an excuse to not have a girlfriend. But then people began speculating, "Why does Richard Tozier cry during sex?"</p><p>And they all realized why shortly. Of course, he never would admit it to them. Fuck that. So, after he graduated and went to college, he put on his best performance yet. </p><p>Richie Tozier: completely straight, slightly homophobic, asshole. </p><p>He'd kept the show going for years. But fuck, he was close to ending the set. He knew it. Bev already left the audience; she was sitting backstage waiting for him to stop acting foolish in front of the world. </p><p>And now he knew he could do it. He just didn't know if he could end the show directly, or if he would have to get someone backstage to help out. </p><p>Eddie came out of the bathroom. He watched the shorter man take his shoes off and carry them to the front door. Richie slipped out of his shoes and left them where he stood. </p><p>Richie smiled, letting his mind go back to the task on hand. "Eddie!" He sang his name off tune. "It's time to open presents!" </p><p>Eddie stopped in his tracks, looking slightly confused. "I thought the play was my present? I swear to fuck, you shouldn't be spending a fuck ton of money on me! I know you're well off but something could happen! You could get in an accident, or get sick! And then you'd be fucked over if you didn't have enough money! I don't want to be the indirect cause of your-" </p><p>"Eddie, I hope you realize that I'm a millionaire. I'm fine. And anyway, the play was more of a welcome home gift." </p><p>Eddie blushed. He sat down on the sofa. Richie laughed. "No, we sit on the floor like real men." </p><p>Eddie blushed again. "What does that even mean?" He asked. But he still scooted off the sofa onto the floor.</p><p>"I mean, I am a man of tradition. So-" He sat on the floor with a plop! "We sit on the floor like my family did every year. Even if I don't have a tree or any of the other stuff. Except those strings of popcorn. I bought some in an attempt to be festive but I ate them all while black out drunk."  </p><p>Eddie sighed, seeming a touch disappointed. "If I'm still here next year for Christmas, we can and will have a tree. Not a real one though. I'll get sick if it's real, I'm allergic to most trees, especially coniferous trees." Eddie didn't see the impact that had on Richie. </p><p>But, like the trashmouth he is, Richie laughed. "And I would get a real tree, the biggest, fattest one too. Just so you can yell at me and tell Bev how much of a bitch I am." </p><p>Eddie laughed quietly. </p><p>Richie switched gears, ready to get this show started. "So, Spaghetti, I got you," he stood up as he realized it was still in his room. "Something that I left in my room, fuck." </p><p>Richie ran to his room and grabbed the box from atop his dresser and then quickly ran back into the living room, where Eddie was not. Richie sat down on the floor again and watched as Eddie came out of the study carrying a nearly wrapped box, complete with a bow and a tag. </p><p>Eddie sat down on the floor much more carefully than Richie. He set the neatly wrapped box in front of him, and Richie set his unwrapped cardboard box down as well. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he switched the boxes' places. </p><p>"Open yours first." </p><p>Eddie did just that. He picked up the white, brick sized box and looked it over carefully, landing on the side where "To Eds" was written in drunken Sharpie. </p><p>"To Eds?" He shook his head. "That's not my name." But he laughed under his breath.</p><p>Eddie pulled the tape back slowly and carefully, as if trying to preserve the box. Richie bit back a retort, it's not the box's first time, is it? </p><p>Because, yes, Richie. Virginity jokes about boxes are completely hilarious.</p><p>Eddie finally pulled the lid off and stared down for a moment. "An iPhone? Richie, I told you, never, never mind. Thank you, a lot." He pulled Richie into a hug. </p><p>"I-" He stumbled over his words, "It's the 6s, 'cause those bullshit ones released in September don't have a hole for your headphones, which is some new level of bullshit." </p><p>Eddie giggled, cute cute cute, and pulled out of the hug. Richie caught himself falling into staring, and quickly pulled his eyes away. It was a quiet moment before Eddie cleared his throat. Richie looked back up, and smiled widely. </p><p>"Open your present fucknut. I'm a little poor right now, but I hope you like it anyway." </p><p>Richie's mind ran wild for a moment, searching for a nervous joke to fill the space, but he came up blank and instead just nodded awkwardly. </p><p>He did what Eddie had done and looked over the wrapping carefully. While he hadn't exactly wrapped the phone (rather, he'd left it in the unmarked box it came in), Eddie had gone all out. The slim box inside was wrapped quite neatly with silver wrapping paper. The wrapping paper, as stated, was a shiny silver with white reindeer. A large, shiny red bow graced the box, and a small tag hung from directly beneath it. </p><p>Richie fumbled with the tag for a moment before getting it to where he could read it. To Rich, From Eddie. ♡</p><p>Richie stared at the heart for a moment.  It's probably just a habit. Or a mistake. Or a joke. Probably a joke. </p><p>Richie finally glanced up at Eddie, who watched him expectantly while nervously picking at a string coming from his sock. Smiling, Richie tucked his pointer finger under the tape and ripped the paper up. Underneath was a small, thin cardboard box. </p><p>"You really wrapped this all the way, huh?" Richie wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Eddie, as a joke. </p><p>"Just open the goddamn box, Rich." </p><p>Richie did just that, awkwardly fumbling with the tape on the box before Eddie sighed and spoke. "Do you need scissors? Or a knife? Or, fuck, just give it to-"</p><p>He reached for the box but Richie pulled back, giggling. "Noo, I can do it myself, Eds! I'm a grown fucking man!"</p><p>Richie, as quickly as he could, ripped the cardboard. He pulled out a picture frame and flipped it over. </p><p>Tears pricked the corner of his eyes as he remembered that day. </p><p>---<br/>
"You're standing on my foot!" </p><p>"Well maybe you shouldn't be short, maybe then I'd see you!" </p><p>"Shut up, Richie! Just stop moving and let Mike take the picture!" </p><p>Richie shut his mouth and shifted a touch. As Mike counted down, he lifted his hand above Eds head. </p><p>"Don't fucking give me rabbit ears, Richie. We're 14 fucking years old, grow up." Eddie snapped just as Mike said "One!" </p><p>Richie's hand slammed down on Eddie's head and he ruffled his hair. Eddie was smiling, despite his angry words a moment prior. Mike took a step away from the group and said he was gonna let it develop or something. If he was honest, Richie was too focused on Eddie to hear most of what Mike had said. </p><p>Bev was leaving in a week. The losers were trying to spend as much time together as possible, and it had been Stan's idea to take a large group picture.<br/>
The only camera they had was Stan's camera as well. </p><p>Stan had received the expensive polaroid from his mother after his "horribly botched" bar mitzvah. The losers got together soon after discovering that he had such a device. Richie had jabbed at him repetitively, saying he'd probably taken a shit load of pictures of his "wrinkly jew dick", to which Stan had grumbled back and provided proof that it was just pictures of birds. </p><p>After Stan had shown the losers a picture of a small bird he called a tufted titmouse, however, Richie began joking about having pictures of tits he took on his expensive ass Polaroid. Stan had leaned into the jokes, showing Richie and Eddie a few more pictures he'd taken of the bird. </p><p>It was about then that his face lit up and he suggested the picture. Bill took to the idea quickly, and the group had gathered together, huddling as close as possible in Bill's garage. </p><p>Stan was smiling widely, next to Eddie, who was grumbling at Richie the entire time. Bill stood in the middle, in between Richie and Ben with his arms wrapped around both boys. Beverly stood close to the blushing Ben, smoking, and Mike stood next to her attempting to take the picture. </p><p>After Mike backed up, and the group waited for the photo to develop, Richie found himself watching Eddie, a habit he'd formed over the summer. And yes, he was fully aware of why. </p><p>That was one of the last times the Loser's club was all together before they reunited at the Jade of The Orient.<br/>
---</p><p>Richie stared down at the photo. Stan is smiling, next to Eddie, who's smiling up at Richie, who's ruffling his hair. Then Bill is next to him, his arms wrapped around Richie and Ben. Beverly is smoking and Mike is smiling widely standing partially in front of her.</p><p>"How did you get this?" </p><p>"I called Mike to see if he had any photos of all of us. He had some from the photo booth at the arcade, and this. He sent me a photocopy and I, well, you can see." </p><p>Richie, for once, found himself speechless. All he could do was lean over and pull Eddie into a hug. The tears threatening to spill gave way, and he cried into Eddie's shoulder. </p><p>"Thank you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry it's been so long!! This last year has been extremely difficult, but things have been looking up and I'm finally feeling okay enough to keep working on this ^-^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The One Where Richie isn't Scared of AIDS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning for a somewhat homophobic remark regarding AIDS, self harm and suicide</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was 1 am. Richie held his phone shakily in his hand. He was nervous. He stared down at Bill's phone number, hoping it would magically ring on it's own. </p><p>Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe I should just go to bed. </p><p>But no, he couldn't go to sleep. He knew it was time. His show had to come to an end, curtains closed. He had to drop the mic and walk off stage. Fuck this set, it was terribly written and he wasn't enjoying it. Richie wanted to attempt shutting the show down by himself first, hence the nervous pacing he was currently performing at 1 am. </p><p>Because everything in his life was a performance. Richie never made a step out of place. Well, he did, but it was always on purpose. He pushed things too far, he hurt people, and he laughed about it. That's the show he put on. Even in the safety of his own apartment, Richie walked as if he was putting on a show. He was a funny man, he couldn't take time to be real. He shouldn't, anyway. </p><p>Richie clucked the call button. It rang twice before Bill picked up. "Hey, Big Bill. It's not too late, or whatever, right?" </p><p>"I'm in England right now, it's about 7 am. I've been awake for like, 2 hours. What's up?" </p><p>Richie felt himself choke. </p><p>"I- Bill, I," I'm crying. </p><p>"Wow, Rich, what's happening? Is everything okay?" Richie heard paper shuffle and he assumed Bill stood up. </p><p>"I need to just lay this out there, fuck. Listen, Bill. You're one of my best friends, and this has been bothering me. You probably already know about this but I like to pretend I'm good at hiding my feelings so fuck it here goes." He took a deep breath. </p><p>"I'm, I'm fucking gay, Bill." </p><p>"Okay." Bill's voice hadn't changed at all. </p><p>A weight Richie didn't realize he felt lifted from his shoulders. "That's, that's the only reason I called." </p><p>"Well, Rich. You're one of my best friends too. Keep up the good work, do things at your pace and know I'm pretty much always open to talk." Bill sounded happy enough. </p><p>"Yeah, yeah. Thanks, umm. It's 1 am here, I have to go." They said their goodbyes and Richie slumped against the wall, crying. Without much hesitation, he clicked on Beverly's contact and clicked the call button. She picked up after a few moments. </p><p>"Richie, I hope you realize it's after 4 am here and- are you crying?" Her tired voice cracked across the phone, making Richie cry harder. God I hope I don't wake Eddie up. </p><p>"I'm sorry Bev. And I hope you realize I'm being serious for once." Richie's voice cracked.</p><p>"Don't be sorry, Rich. What's up?" </p><p>"I, so you know how I told you I'm, I'm, well you know. I can't tell you why, but I told Bill. I just, some things have happened that made me feel like I could do it. But I can't fucking tell anyone else. I became a sobbing mess within like, fucking seconds, when I told Bill. And, god this sounds so strange, but I want you to tell everyone else. Except. Except Eddie." </p><p>"Oh, okay. I guess I can do that. I would tell Ben now but he has a meeting tomorrow morning and, as I said, its past 4 am. Can I ask why I shouldn't tell Eddie?" </p><p>Richie sighed. "Hold on." He stood up, using the wall, and walked over to the door to the study. The door was slightly open, and he peaked around the edge. Eddie was facing the door, sleeping peacefully. </p><p>"I'm going to step outside. Hang on." </p><p>He grabbed his keys from the hook on the wall (an edition Eddie had practically forced him to add) and stepped into the hallway. </p><p>"Well, Bev. I know it's obvious that I'm, that I'm in love with him. I doubt he would ever love me back, but I still want to be the one to tell him that, that I'm gay." </p><p>Bev was quiet. </p><p>"Bev, please say something." </p><p>"Okay. I can tell everyone, except for Eddie. Go get some sleep." </p><p>Richie sighed in what can only be called relief. "Goodnight Beverly."</p><p>"Goodnight, Rich."</p><p>---</p><p>It was 3 pm, December 26th. Richie was sat at the dining table while Eddie sat on the couch, adding contacts into his newly set up phone. Richie was holding his phone, pretending to be reading something, but he was distracted. He wanted to do it. Today. He knew that if Beverly stuck by her word, the rest of the Loser's would know soon, or already did. He didn't want it getting back to Eddie before he could tell him. </p><p>"Eds." </p><p>Eddie jumped, not looking up. "My name is not Eds." He finished typing and looked up.</p><p>"You know you like it."</p><p>"Sure I do, fucknut." </p><p>"What do you say we go out to eat?"</p><p>"Richie, it's only 3 pm."</p><p>"Exactly. Perfect time for lunch-dinner. There's this restaurant I want to try but Steve thinks it's too posh for me so we've never gone there for a meeting."</p><p>Eddie snickered. "Sometimes I forget your meetings are just dinner dates with your manager." </p><p>"They aren't dates, shut up. Do you want to go out to eat or not?" </p><p>"Sure. I'll get my shit together." </p><p>Richie felt his heart swell with appreciation and anxiety. Eddie is so perfect. Oh fuck, I'm going to tell him.</p><p>A few minutes later, Eddie met Richie by the door. Both of them had changed into better clothes. </p><p>"Are you kidding me? A fucking, alien shirt? You're 40, Rich!" Eddie mocked, though he was smiling.</p><p>"First off, they're xenomorphs from the Alien franchise. Call them as they are, Spaghetti Man. And second, I will never be too old for a graphic tee." Richie laughed back. </p><p>"Whatever, dickbag." Eddie rolled his eyes and walked past Richie. He turned to face him, though, after he stepped out of the apartment. </p><p>"Off we go, Eduardo!" Richie pointed ahead of him with his keys, jogging down the hall. He skidded to a halt at the corner and grabbed his back. "I'm not a thirteen year old anymore, fuck." </p><p>Eddie laughed and the two walked out of the apartment complex, Richie managing to trip on the stairs 3 times before they got to the bottom. Richie rambled. He was growing more and more nervous the closer to his car they got. Eddie managed to get in a random word here or there, but Richie's anxiety kept him talking. </p><p>When they got to his car, Richie slid into the driver's seat and after a moment of awkward silence, turned the radio on. He clicked the source button twice, and then let the mixtape play. Queen's song 'Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy' began as Richie pulled out of his parking space. </p><p>Richie sang along. Loudly. He could see Eddie out of the corner of his eye, smiling at Richie's horrendous singing voice. Oh God, his smile. Now, here's something you need to know about Richie. He is definitely a loud person, but he only sings like this (loudly and roughly) when he's nervous. And here, he was his most nervous. </p><p>The entire way to the restaurant, the car was filled with Richie's not-so-good singing voice as he yelled along to Queen and Elton John. They parked and Eddie turned the music to near silence and turned to Richie. </p><p>"We're here now, Trashmouth. Let's go inside." A large smile graced his face as he pushed his door open and stepped out of the car.</p><p>Eddie headed for the door quickly and Richie followed after him, having to jog a little to catch up. Eddie took the lead, already asking for a table for two before Richie could catch his breath. </p><p>Once they were seated, Richie felt the world finally slow down. Eddie launched into a detailed list of his allergies (cashews, shellfish, etc. Oh! And don't forget, he's lactose intolerant and sensitive to eggs!) and Richie watching as the waiter tried desperately to write it as fast as Eddie said it. </p><p>The waiter then turned to look at Richie, who gave a semi-amused, semi-apologetic smile before quickly ordering a dish of spaghetti. He smirked at Eddie, who shook his head. </p><p>After the waiter walked away, saying he would be right back with drinks, Richie started rambling again. "So I've wanted to come here for a long fucking time. It's not too expensive and did you see the sign? Would you say this place is posh? What does posh even mean?" </p><p>"Posh is- Richie you got fucking As all through school, you know what it means!" Eddie laughed and shook his head again. </p><p>"And? You were a risk analyst and you've done a lot of risky shit! People have layers, Spaghetti. I may have passed classes, but I did not give a shit about remembering every vocabulary word." </p><p>"Oh shut up! You're a fucking trashmouth, but you're fucking smart. Let me compliment you for once, it's likely the only chance you've got." </p><p>"Okay," Richie laughed. "I'll let you have this. I know what posh means. Do you remember those voices I did? I had, oh what was his name?" </p><p>"Jesus, Richie, your voices. The British guy was so annoying!"</p><p>'I may have been terrible, but impressions are fun as hell. They let you be someone else, and they make people laugh." </p><p>Eddie smiled. Before either of them could speak again, their waiter arrived, setting their cups down first, and then sliding their dishes onto the table. </p><p>"Thanks." Eddie took a small sip of his water and smiled at the waiter awkwardly.</p><p>"Let's dig the fuck in!" Richie took a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. "Fuck, Eddie, you're delicious! You must get it from your mom!" He said around a mouthful of food. </p><p>"Fuck you, Trashmouth." Eddie said it with a smile. </p><p>---</p><p>"So, what do you say we get the hell out of here?" Richie was watching Eddie take a drink of his water. </p><p>Eddie nodded. "Fuck yes. You know what I could go for right now?" He sat back, pulling his elbows off the table. </p><p>"Ice cream." </p><p>"That's not what I was thinking, but absolutely." </p><p>Richie felt his nerves rise. His plan was coming together, and he wasn't sure whether he should be happy or terrified. Perhaps both. Definitely both. </p><p>Here's the thing about being a comedian. Richie loved his job, but he hated everything about it. Everything about being a comedian was just hiding his feelings or using his suffering for the amusement of others. It was all about keeping a careless, funny face. He wasn't allowed to be sad. And that was always a problem. Sure, at first Richie loved it. After all, deflecting his insecurities with humor was what he'd always done. </p><p>His glasses? Throw a joke and it's fine. <br/>His parents? Nothing a joke can't fix. <br/>His failing happiness? A few laughs can fix it. <br/>His homosexuality? Tape it up with a funny band aid. </p><p>Richie was good at that, hiding his feelings. But over time, it got tiring and well, depressing. The 40 year old man had found himself in therapy, but when she asked why he set the appointment, he was unable to come up with an answer. Why? Because I'm sad. Why? Because I hate myself. Why? Because I'm scared of who I am. Why? I can't change myself. Why? </p><p>He had gone to a few appointments, discussed the empty feeling, the deplorable sadness, his inability to get sleep. She had recommended a mixture of cognitive behavioral therapy and medication. Richie had ditched the sessions after the 4th or 5th session, but picked up the prescription. He still went in monthly and had it refilled. </p><p>Now, the problem arises. Richie felt some sense of relief. His depressive state wasn't like it had been. But fuck, his anxiety was easily tampered with. He wasn't aware, but his dosage was off and he still wasn't feeling the way he was supposed to. But, he saw an improvement and took that as his final state. </p><p>And so, we find ourselves here. His anxiety is at an all time high, but at least he isn't crying. </p><p>Eddie is ready for ice cream. Which means my plan is going to happen. Fuck, fuck. </p><p>The two men had already paid (or rather, Richie had paid for both of them) so they collected themselves and made their way back to Richie's car. The two bantered the entire way to Cold Stone, and into the creamery. </p><p>Richie playfully shushed Eddie's rant about the benefits and downfalls of vegan ice cream. "Eds, shut up and just get some tasty ass ice cream. Don't worry if it's dairy, or gluten, or fucking, wheat." </p><p>"That's, Richie, if it has wheat it's not gluten free-"</p><p>"Shh." Richie pressed a finger in Eddie's face. Eddie's face when bright red and he shook his head. </p><p>When they got to the front of the line, Richie watched as Eddie ordered the low fat (and dairy free) vanilla bean, and then blushed as he asked for chocolate sprinkles. Eddie was handed his cone, and stood awkwardly while Richie ordered. </p><p>"Can I have the, uhh, chocolate, and," He watched the worker scoop. "And chocolate sprinkles and syrup?" The worker dutifully applied his toppings and then handed the cone over the counter. </p><p>Richie joined Eddie at the check out, where he paid with a larger bill than needed and directed the worker to keep the change as a tip. (What? Richie might be a trashmouth, but he isn't a complete asshole!) </p><p>The men took a seat in the corner of the small, mostly empty, establishment. Eddie licked his ice cream in circles along the bottom, while Richie took a large bite. </p><p>"Dude, what the fuck? Did you just bite your ice cream?" </p><p>Richie nodded. "And? Fuck you!" </p><p>Both of them laughed, a little awkwardly. After a moment of slightly prolonged eye contact, Richie leaned across the small table and licked Eddie's ice cream. </p><p>A small look of horror crossed Eddie's face. "Richie! Aren't you scared of getting gay diseases? Aren't you scared of AIDS?"</p><p>Richie felt a nervous laugh rise in his throat, followed by nausea. Humor. It's how he escaped these situations. "Listen, hypochondriac, if either of us has AIDS, it's me." What the fuck? What the fuck? Why did I say that?</p><p>Stupid fear. Stupid, clumsy fear. </p><p>It was awkward for a long moment. And then Eddie leaned forward on his elbows, took a small lick from his ice cream, and asked, "What do you mean by that?" </p><p>"I, I was going to tell you today. Just, I didn't plan on making it into a joke. So hey, Eddie, Eds, Eddie Spaghetti, I'm gay! And hey, while I'm at it, might as well tell you some other shit. I've seen you looking at my arms, and yes, I did that. I tried to fucking, I tried to kill myself. Twice actually. God, it actually feels kind of nice to spill all this shit. You know, I usually just make jokes when I'm upset but-" </p><p>"Richie, please shut up. You shouldn't be so worried to tell me, man. I don't give two shits."</p><p>Richie nodded, feeling more nauseous than before. "I, yeah, I think, I need to go to the bathroom." </p><p>Richie stood up, feeling like he was about to vomit. He rushed for the bathroom, shoved open the door, and barely made it to the toilet before spewing his guts out.</p>
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